


If I give you a hint and tell you it's a hint, it would be information

by Frogster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Concealed Identity, Constant Vigilance, Curses, Draco really is Howl, F/M, Happy Ending, Hermione as Sophie, Hermione's a bartender, Inspired by Howl's Moving Castle, It was a surprise even to me, Secret Santa, but sadly no Calcifer, dramatic but loving blonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frogster/pseuds/Frogster
Summary: Written for Strictly Dramione's Secret Santa 2017.Prompt #12:Christmas Eve. Five years after the war. Hermione hasn't been seen since the final battle. She was hit by a curse that changed her appearance and rendered her mute. She's discovered a way to break the curse--someone has ato say her first name three times in her presence. But how does she convince someone to do this when she looks nothing like herself, can't speak, and can't communicate anything about the curse to anyone?Well, she uses the only assets she's got left. Her mind and her body.Draco Malfoy is gearing up for yet another lonely Christmas. The woman he's secretly loved for years disappeared and can't be found, no matter how hard he tried. He's in need of female company. He can't bear to be alone tonight, of all nights.Will a Christmas miracle happen?





	If I give you a hint and tell you it's a hint, it would be information

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written for a fest--probably about five years, in fact--so I hope everyone enjoys! I won't write one night stands, so I tweaked it a little so that Draco and Hermione have in fact been talking for weeks without him knowing it's her. Plus, she hasn't been missing since the final battle--wasn't able to work that in.
> 
> Thanks as always to sirenofodysseus, who after seven years of friendship and countless readings of my stories always has good things to say! Thanks for encouraging me to participate in the fest when I was lacking inspiration. It's been a hard year.
> 
> Also thanks to kirsant, whose scrupulous editing is usually spot-on and well deserved! Thanks for your willingness to pick through the musings of my mind and warn me away from overusing certain words. :) Seriously, if you haven't read kirsant's work, check out The Last Gift. You won't be disappointed!

Note: Title from  _ Howl’s Moving Castle  _ by Diana Wynne Jones.

 

She woke up, and she didn’t know where she was.

 

She wasn’t in her bedroom, but rather in a storeroom, judging by the boxes and containers lining the walls and shelves.

 

Sitting up, the young woman groaned. She didn’t know what had happened. The last thing she could remember was reading from a book….

 

_ Of course.  _ The book was evidence in a case, and as Auror liaison and resident expert in all sorts of books, Hermione had been called in to take a look. She vaguely remembered reading an inscription inside, and then nothing.

 

Frowning, she looked around, trying to discern more about her surroundings. Whatever had happened to her had been sufficient to knock her out long enough and well enough for someone to get the drop on her, which was aggravating. She still practiced constant vigilance, even five years after the war.

 

All she could see were boxes labeled with various food items and supplies. She was in a restaurant of sorts--a pub, probably, judging by the faint smell of alcohol.

 

She got up and immediately stepped back. She was viewing everything from a slightly higher vantage point than usual.

 

The call of nature hit, and she turned around, looking for a way out. She found the restroom without too much trouble. A glance out the small window by the back door told her it was very early morning, just before sunrise. No one at the pub would be up for a while, she was sure.

 

After using the loo, she washed her hands and automatically looked in the dingy mirror above the sink.

 

She gasped.

 

Staring back at her was a stranger’s face. Experimentally, she tilted her head this way and that, and the stranger in the mirror replicated Hermione’s actions. She scrutinized her hands; instead of olive skin, all she saw was pure ivory. Another glance in the mirror revealed pin-straight blond locks instead of her familiar unruly chestnut curls. From what she could tell, she was about three inches taller than she normally was and a little bit curvier.

 

The only feature she recognized were her eyes--they were the same chocolate hue.

 

Hermione had never been truly vain. Sure, the slights against her appearance when she was younger had hurt, and of course she had seized the opportunity to shrink her oversized front teeth when it had appeared, but generally she cared for more profound things than just her looks.

 

Still, she didn’t like her new appearance. She was still herself--she retained all of her memories and faculties, as well as her trusty purple bag with its Undetectable Extension Charm and her wand. But she didn’t _look_ like herself--she had none of the distinctive features that made her Hermione. It was unnerving.

 

But she was Hermione Granger, no matter what she looked like, and Hermione Granger always had a plan.

 

* * *

 

First, she had to figure out exactly where she was. A glance around the eating area and out the front windows of the pub told her that she was in Muggle London, two blocks away from the entrance to Diagon Alley. She remembered passing the tavern several times; like many establishments so close to London’s wizarding enclave,  _ The King’s Head  _ was run by a Squib. 

 

Filling a glass with water and taking a seat in a booth, she pondered her options. She couldn’t go back to her flat; she was sure that the wards would let her in, but the appearance of a strange woman would be plastered all over the  _ Prophet _ by the ever-present paparazzi. Plus, her embarrassment at being caught by surprise was a huge blow to her pride; she wanted to get out of this Devil’s Snare herself.

 

As she tried to remember what exactly had happened, she became increasingly sure that she had been cursed by the book. The curse didn’t seem to be particularly harmful--she still had all of her limbs and faculties--but given what she knew about curses, Hermione didn’t think she would be able to tell anyone about it.

 

So going back to Wizarding London and telling Harry and Ron that she was, in fact, herself was out of the question. Which was fine; she had gotten out of bigger scrapes than this. She had helped take down the most evil wizard of their time; she could conquer a curse. But how?

 

* * *

 

She ended up securing employment at  _ The King’s Head _ . She would need money to live on while she figured out how to break the curse--and while attempting to land a job, she had discovered another complication.

 

She was mute.

 

Hermione had skipped out of the pub to buy something resembling breakfast--luckily she carried just enough Muggle money to cover the cost. When she returned, she noticed a HELP WANTED sign. She had attempted to talk to the owner about applying, but no sound would come out. She quickly covered up her lack of speech with a cough, quickly realizing that she was no longer able to talk. Pointing to her throat and shaking her head “no,” she eventually was able to make the owner understand that she couldn’t talk, but that she could still work. He was evidently desperate for an employee, for he slid over an application without much fuss. She went to a booth to fill out the application, and was met with a new obstacle.

 

She couldn’t write her name.

 

Of course, being able to indicate that she was Hermione Granger would be too easy of a way to break the curse. She could write her birthdate, and make up an address, but was unable to print her own name.

 

She pondered over an alias as she completed the form. Then it hit her: the main character from a book she had loved as a child. A young woman who had been struck by a curse that changed her appearance into that of a wizened old woman. A young woman who had been astonished to discover that she had magic and had found herself through the application of that magic and the friends she had discovered along with it. A young woman who couldn’t talk about her curse, but had struck a bargain to break it.

 

Sophie, from  _ Howl’s Moving Castle.  _

 

It was perfect.

 

* * *

 

She had been working for about three weeks when everything changed again. Hermione performed all sorts of tasks, from table busser to sometimes cook to, most recently, bartender. Hermione wasn’t much of a drinker, but luckily the pub patrons prefered straight alcohol to a mixed drink; passing the bartending exam had been easy after reading the manual front to back twice.

 

The sound of footsteps caught her attention. She turned around, eyebrows raising. The glass in her hands began to tremble.

 

In front of her was Draco Malfoy.

 

* * *

  
  


It had been a trying few weeks for Draco Malfoy.

 

Hermione Granger, war heroine and current Auror liaison, was missing. The Auror department had dropped everything to search for the witch, but so far had not been successful. Wizarding England was in an uproar over the disappearance of their golden girl.

Potter was beside himself with worry, Weasley was more hopeless than usual, and the few times Draco had seen Potter’s wife, the former Weaselette looked like she was ready to punch or hex someone at a moment’s notice.

 

Hermione’s disappearance had affected Draco, too.

 

He had always had a soft spot for the brilliant witch. Intrigue at her brilliance combined with her heritage had given way to a grudging respect, then respect to admiration, and finally admiration to an affection so tender it scared him to admit the power she unwittingly wielded over him.

 

When efforts to find her in the Wizarding world had failed, Draco had turned to the Muggle one. His first thought had been to check for Hermione in a library--when in doubt, you could always find Hermione Granger in a library. But not this time.. 

 

He even checked her parents’ former house and their current apartment, but she wasn’t in either place.

 

Disgruntled, he entered a small pub not far inside Muggle London. He called for the bartender, a young woman with blond locks nearly as light as his own. When she turned around, her eyebrows shot up but quickly lowered. 

 

“Whiskey, please,” he ordered. “And some of that shepherd’s pie,” he said, nodding to the sign on the bar.

 

She nodded and swiftly brought him his drink and food. “Thank you,” he automatically said. When he didn’t hear a “You’re welcome,” he looked up. The woman was still there. She pointed to her throat and shook her head quickly.

 

“You’re mute,” he said, surprised. She nodded sadly.

 

He decided that asking the bartender couldn’t hurt. “Have you seen this woman?” he asked, pulling a still picture of Hermione out of his jacket. “I’m in law enforcement, and she’s been missing for a few weeks. Her name is Hermione Granger.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione felt a  _ zing  _ go through her at the mention of her name. Filing that information away for later, she shook her head again, only for Draco to sigh.

 

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “We’re friends,” he added shortly. “She’s done a lot of good for people, and we all just want to know that she’s okay.”

 

Hermione nodded once more, then pointed to herself and then to her eye, swiveling her head dramatically as if she was looking for something. 

 

Draco chuckled. “I guess that means you’ll be on the lookout?” he asked.

 

Hermione smiled and nodded. His face grew solemn. “Thank you,” he replied.

 

Hermione was a bit taken aback by Draco’s demeanor. She knew they were friends--they had befriended each other during their eighth year at Hogwarts and continued the friendship after graduation--but she had no idea that her disappearance had affected him so deeply. To the casual observer, Draco’s expression wouldn’t be that telling, but for someone who knew him well, it spoke volumes. He was exhausted and yet continued to search.

 

Hermione grabbed a second helping of shepherd’s pie and slid it in front of Draco. He was slightly taken aback by the appearance of more food and moved to get more money. As he poked through the coins in his palm, Hermione grabbed a napkin and pen. She drew a crude drawing of a house and an arrow pointing to the roof. She slid the napkin into Draco’s line of sight. He peered at it for a moment, then chuckled lightly. “On the house?” he guessed.

 

She grinned, then moved to take another customer’s order.

 

* * *

 

Draco became a regular at the small pub after that. He showed up about every other night. Each time he started off with “Have you seen her?” When Hermione would shake her head no, he would sigh quietly and then place his order. They managed to hold conversations through gestures and napkin notes.

 

Unfortunately, since that first night Draco had not uttered Hermione’s name. From her collection of books that she still carried in her infinitely expandable bag, Hermione had learned that her particular curse could only be broken if someone said her name in her presence three times. She didn’t know if it had to be her first and last name, or only one of them, but she was already a third of the way to regaining her true identity. She just had to figure out how to get Draco to mention her true name again.

 

About a month after Draco had started coming to the pub, he appeared one night with a book in tow. Hermione knew that he was an avid reader; their shared love of books had sparked their friendship. They traded recommendations and argued the merits of their favorites. Hermione had even introduced Draco to quite a few Muggle novels.  _ To Kill A Mockingbird  _ had broken down many of the barriers between them as they discussed the book’s depiction of race and its implications for Muggleborn/Wizarding relationships. Not all of the Muggle books Hermione recommended were so loaded, however. She had also introduced him to Sherlock Holmes, Edgar Allan Poe, and Draco’s current favorite, the Dirk Pitt novels by Clive Cussler.

 

On this night in particular, Draco had brought the latest Cussler novel with him. When she came to take his order, he held up a finger for her to wait until he had finished the page. When he had done so, he looked up, slightly sheepish. “My apologies--I just bought this book today and I haven’t been able to put it down.”

 

Hermione tapped the cover to indicate that she wanted to see the title of the book. She flipped through it and indicated her approval. “You like to read as well?” he asked.

 

She nodded excitedly, grinning. The corner of Draco’s lips turned up. “It’s an escape,” he offered. “You always know that the protagonist is going to win, at least with these novels, but it’s always intriguing to see  _ how _ .”

 

Hermione grabbed a napkin and pen from her apron and quickly scribbled her response. “Exactly,” she wrote. “Books offer an escape from the real world. No matter what problems you may have, there’s always a book to delve into for a little reprieve. Books are always there, even when people aren’t. They hold whole worlds and realms of knowledge inside them.”

 

It was Hermione’s turn to look a little sheepish. She had briefly shared these thoughts with Draco a while back, though not in these exact words or this in-depth. Normally, she wouldn’t care about unleashing her adoration for the written word in front of him, but she wasn’t herself. She was Sophie, at least for now, and it felt a little odd to be sharing so much with Draco when to him, she was barely an acquaintance.

 

Draco merely peered at her for a while. Hermione tried not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. She felt as if he could see all the way through her, to who she really was. On the one hand, she hoped he did realize who she was, because she would be closer to returning to her true self, but at the same time she felt a bit of embarrassment. She thought of Draco so highly--more highly than she wanted to admit to herself, actually--that she didn’t want to hear his censure for failing to maintain her rule of constant vigilance.

 

“My thoughts exactly,” he finally answered, before giving his order. She gave a brusque nod and moved onto another customer.

 

“My apologies if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” he said before she left. “It’s just--your views on books reminded me a lot of her, of Hermione.”

 

_ Zing.  _ Hermione felt the slight shock run through her again at the mention of her real name. Twice now he had said it in her presence. Only once more, and she’d be free. 

 

She gestured to indicate that it was no problem. In truth, she was glad that he had remembered her thoughts on books, and not just because they had led to him speaking her true name. They showed that he truly did understand the fundamental parts of her, and not only did he respect them, he actually agreed with them. Hermione loved Harry and Ron, she truly did, but it was wonderful to have someone who shared her passions.

 

Hermione had known this intellectual side to Draco existed, from their previous discussions, but knowing that he loved books and what they represented just as much as she did cemented his place in her heart.

 

* * *

 

A month passed, and then it was Christmas Eve. Draco was growing more disgruntled with each passing day. Hermione still hadn’t been found. He knew that the talented witch could take care of herself, but it wasn’t like her to break off all contact.

 

The holidays made things worse. He would normally spend them with his mother, but she was with Andromeda this year on the Continent. He had seen Blaise and Theo briefly, but Hermione’s continued absence and the stress of looking for her had taken their toll. 

 

The only bright spot seemed to be Sophie’s company. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the young woman was much like the witch he adored. They were both kind, clever, well-read women who seemed to like conversing with him, although he still had no idea why Hermione had decided to befriend him all those years ago. He was grateful, of course, and he enjoyed their friendship immensely, but part of him felt that he would forever be atoning for his childhood mistakes.

 

He headed towards the pub, hoping that a night in Sophie’s company would help. She had become slightly more flirtatious as their friendship had continued. He was definitely flattered, but felt a little like he was betraying Hermione, even though they weren’t dating. He hoped he wouldn’t get so drunk that he would openly proposition Sophie--he was sure he would fail--but a few kisses might be welcomed. He’d much rather kiss and caress Hermione, but she wasn’t here.

 

Draco ordered his whiskey as usual, but didn’t stop after one. Sophie’s presence just reminded him increasingly more of Hermione as the night went on and he continued to drink. Eventually, Sophie came over, concerned. Draco motioned for another shot, but she stood in front of him, arms crossed and glaring. 

 

He tried to look his most pitiful--it really wasn’t that hard, as depressed and drunk as he was--but she wouldn’t budge. Another trait she shared with Hermione, then. 

 

Sophie silently passed him a tall glass of water and motioned with one hand for him to speak.

 

“I miss her,” he grumbled. “She would have been the only bright spot for the holidays! My father’s dead, my mother is spending the holidays with her sister in Europe. I have no siblings, no other close family.

 

“I wanted to ask her to the law enforcement agency’s Christmas ball,” he continued, frowning into the glass of water. “I was going to ask her, but then she disappeared! It’s not like her to disappear without contacting anyone. She’s so methodical, plans everything out. She wouldn’t just take a trip on a whim, especially without telling anyone. 

 

“I’ve known her since we were children, did you know that? We went to school together. I was jealous of her intelligence. I had always been the smartest of my friends until we all went to boarding school, and that’s when she entered the picture. I was raised to believe...I was raised to believe that people like her...people who didn’t come from old money and connected, powerful families weren’t as smart and successful as we were,” he said carefully--even though he was drunk, he still had enough control of his mental faculties not to mention anything about magic. He was suddenly glad for the glass of water she had given him; if he had drained just a few more drinks, he could very well have been enough to let something slip. 

 

“I believed it, until I met her, and even then I didn’t change my beliefs at first. And then when I finally did, it was too late. I bullied her, I admit it. I didn’t understand her back then, but she intrigued me, she always has. And I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand why. And my father...if he had realized just how deep my interest in her went...he wouldn’t have stood for it. But I couldn’t ignore her. She’s not the type of woman you can ignore.

 

“I come from a family of dubious morals. I’m a coward, and a Sly--” he caught himself before he said the name of his house. “I’m someone who tries to slither out of hard situations instead of facing them. Or at least I was. I’ve tried to be better. I’m not perfect, and for someone who was raised to believe that he  _ was  _ perfect, that he should be perfect, those are hard words to say, even now.”

 

He looked up at Sophie self-consciously. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, and he admitted to himself that Sophie’s resemblance to Hermione had probably greatly influenced him to spill his guts. He had wanted to tell Hermione all of this, every last bit of it. He hadn’t had the chance, however--he had known that it would take a cauldron’s worth of alcohol to get him to talk like this.

 

“I guess there’s something to the old saying that bartenders serve as therapists,” he said a bit gruffly, drawing back into himself. Sophie earnest gaze pierced his soul. Only one woman had been able to look at him like that--well, two, he guessed, if he counted his mother. Only one woman he wasn’t related to had been able to see all of him and still remain by his side. 

 

He had relayed to Hermione when they had first become friends how sorry he was for his part in the war, how he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone but he was afraid that he had. How he still regretted not doing something--anything--while his aunt had tortured her.

 

She had listened, had understood, had eventually forgiven him.

 

He didn’t deserve Hermione.

 

He didn’t deserve Sophie’s friendship, either, for all his railing in his youth against Muggle-kind. But he wasn’t about to launch into such a tale. He suspected she might be a Squib, from certain things he had observed and her very employment in a Squib-run establishment, but he wasn’t about to take that risk.

 

Sophie continued to look at him intently. Her eyes and face showed no trace of pity; rather, they exuded compassion.

 

Draco watched as Sophie’s eyes glanced around the empty pub, then returned to him. She offered a slight smile and motioned for him to join her at the end of the bar, which was a little more secluded.

 

Draco swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He was no stranger to making out in hidden alcoves, but that had been when he was a randy teenager, just discovering the allure of the opposite sex.

 

He followed Sophie to the secluded nook, which led to a door. Leading him outside into an alley, she turned to look at him and he noticed her jump at his proximity. He smirked a little, pleased that he had such an effect. His heart may be Hermione’s, but he couldn’t help the sense of pride that he could still distract women with his presence, his nearness.

 

Sophie’s hand suddenly reached up and gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, her knuckles grazing his jawline. Draco shuddered at the contact and closed his eyes. No one had touched him so tenderly in a long time.   

 

He opened his eyes just in time to see Sophie lean in. Her soft lips touched his, moving gently, coaxing him to respond. He closed his eyes and relaxed, his arms wrapping around her. He increased the pressure slightly, feeling her sigh against his mouth. One of his hands traveled down to her hip, clutching her closer. His other hand made its way up to her soft hair, catching in the long strands.

 

But wait. Something was wrong. Instead of loose curls, Draco felt straight locks. He jerked back suddenly. 

 

Sophie’s eyes opened and her face fell. He felt bad for getting her hopes up; he really did like her. “I’m so sorry,” he said, flustered. “I thought I could, but I can’t. You’re beautiful, and wonderful, but you’re not her. You’re not Hermione.”

 

As soon as the name of his beloved witch left his lips, Sophie started to shimmer in front of him. He thought at first that the alcohol was affecting him more than he had previously thought, but the sparks settled, and in their place was…

 

“Hermione!” Draco exclaimed, grasping her hands in his. She was laughing and smiling. “Yes, it’s me!” she cried. He had never heard a more welcome sound than her voice.

 

Abruptly, he dropped her hands. “Wait, what’s going on? You’ve been here this whole time? I spilled my heart out to Sophie...to you...I don’t even know any more. I’m so glad you’re alive,” he said earnestly, “But I want to know what’s going on.”

 

“I was cursed, Draco,” Hermione began. Draco’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed her hands again. “How? Who? If it’s anyone I know, I’ll…” 

 

“I have my suspicions,” Hermione said wryly, “And yes, I think the perpetrators are people we both know, just not well. 

 

“I was cursed by one of the artifacts I was examining. I made the mistake of reading out loud from the book to get the pronunciation right. Speaking the words activated the curse. It changed my appearance and left me mute, but left my memories and personality intact.

 

“And before you ask, don’t you think I would have come to you, Harry, Ron, or Ginny if I could have? If I could have convinced you that I was who I said I was, I would have, and I wouldn’t have been stuck like this for two months. But I couldn’t even write my true name.

 

“I’m so glad you walked into this pub, Draco. I’m so glad you kept looking for me. I’m so glad that you understand me so well, even if I’m in a different form. I’m glad you care about me enough to break away from Sophie, even though I would love to keep kissing you…” Hermione wondered if some of the alcohol Draco had been drinking had transferred over to her as they kissed. She usually wasn’t so bold...but coming back to herself had made her realize that maybe who she truly wanted wasn’t a pipe dream after all.

 

“Do you think I subconsciously knew who you really were, and that’s why I felt drawn to you?” Draco asked.

 

“It’s a possibility, I’m sure,” Hermione answered. “Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine...I think they’re the same.”

 

“As long as we don’t end up like Cathy and Heathcliff,” Draco replied.   
  


“No, I think we’re too smart for that,” Hermione rejoined. 

 

“So Granger,” Draco drawled. “Did you really say that you’d like to keep kissing me?”

 

“I did,” Hermione answered, blushing.

 

“Good.” Draco tugged Hermione to him. Their lips met, and immediately his hand went for her chestnut curls. He sighed against her mouth, feeling her body next to his. 

 

Hermione flittered her hands along the nape of his neck, tugging gently at the ends of his hair. Draco groaned, fitting Hermione to himself more closely and opening her mouth under his.

 

Their hands continued to explore until finally they remembered where they were. Draco grinned down at Hermione’s flushed face. Her lips were slightly swollen and her hair was starting to frizz from how he had run his hands through it, but she’d never looked more beautiful.

 

“So what do you say we do with the rest of our Christmas Eve?” he purred invitingly. It was Hermione’s turn to shudder before she grabbed his hand and led him back inside, then up to her room.

 

They kissed and caressed each other for hours, discussing their future. They didn’t have sex that night, but that was fine with Draco. He understood her reticence and privately agreed. He’d rather take his time, have it be perfect and be totally ready to take that step with her. He settled for holding her close all night long, feeling her soft curves against him.

 

Waking up next to her the next morning, her curls snaking across the pillow like vines and her cold nose buried into his neck, was the best Christmas present ever.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed, especially if you're the recipient of this story! Please leave kudos or a comment if you're so inclined, and I hope you all have a merry Christmas and a happy new year!


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